


soup for the soul

by nebulousviolet



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene, Simon POV, a few fun easter eggs but spoiler free for every other series, set in city of bones, slight jace bashing but this is book 1 simon so what do you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29196699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulousviolet/pseuds/nebulousviolet
Summary: "I should probably tell you that I'm not actually in love with you or anything," Simon began, once he was sure Clary and that stupid golden boy Jace were out of earshot. "Sorry to disappoint."Isabelle was leaning over her pot of soup and not looking at him. Simon thought that perhaps that was best.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Simon Lewis (mentioned/onesided), Simon Lewis & Isabelle Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood
Kudos: 8





	soup for the soul

**Author's Note:**

> it's that time of year where i get obsessed with isabelle again! this is technically third in a series of ff.net originals that were spruced up for ao3 xposting purposes but by far this is the one that has undergone the most changes and apart from the opening sentences and a few phrases here and there, it's pretty unrecognisable from the 2018 (horrible) original and imo is more of a rewrite than anything else. i think this was originally inspired by the line in city of bones (or maybe city of ashes) where simon tells clary he was just flirting with isabelle to get her attention BUT i rewrote this with some other stuff in mind: the city of bones graphic novel bonus scene with simon and isabelle's central park date (and kiss!!), the line in i think city of heavenly fire where simon goes "not iz, not izzy, isabelle", and one of the tales from shadowhunter academy (no idea which) where isabelle tells simon only her friends call her izzy. insert obligatory disclaimer that cassandra clare is a bad person who i do not personally support but i have been emotionally attached to her characters for going on 8 years here.

"I should probably tell you that I'm not actually in love with you or anything," Simon began, once he was sure Clary and that stupid golden boy Jace were out of earshot. "Sorry to disappoint."

Isabelle was leaning over her pot of soup and not looking at him. Simon thought that perhaps that was best. She was beautiful - too beautiful, untouchable, unreal, and so Simon had not been surprised by her aloof manner or pouting mouth; the soup had been the only unknown variable in the equation. Girls like  _ her  _ didn’t waste their time with boys like  _ him _ . Perhaps that was why Simon had fallen in love with Clary instead of one of the endless parades of unreachable Isabelles in the world, except clearly that wasn’t working out either, leaving him here in the kitchen with Isabelle. Isabelle, who could and probably would kill him for her own amusement if he didn’t prove to be entertaining.

"Yeah," she said at last, turning down the heat on the stove and glancing at him over her shoulder. Against the pale unblemished skin of her face, her eyes seemed as dark and burning as bruises. If there was anything to be read in them, Simon clearly didn’t speak the language. "I figured.”

Funny, how she’d managed to make it sound like a sigh despite her delivery being as deadpan as ever. He was probably,  _ definitely _ , reading too much into this, and as if she could read his mind - shit,  _ could  _ she read his mind? Clary would’ve mentioned if she could do that, right? - she gave him a humourless smirk. “Let me guess,” she drawled. “The redhead.  _ Clary _ .”

Her mouth twisted ever so slightly on Clary's name; her attempt to conceal what was evident dislike was flimsy at best, and Simon suspected that Isabelle didn’t really care what he thought of what  _ she  _ thought of Clary. There was a moment where he thought he might rush to Clary’s defence, make a brilliant case as to why Isabelle was  _ wrong  _ and his best friend was blinding and brilliant and ten times better than Isabelle herself could ever be, even with her long legs and perfect complexion, but. But, Simon reasoned, it would be wasted breath, and Isabelle wouldn’t understand why Clary’s cute little eyebrow furrow whenever she was concentrating made her so perfect, or how funny it was to get her all riled up over her favourite manga, anyway - Isabelle, who, if Jace’s lack of pop culture references were any indication, had been raised in some kind of cult. Perhaps Isabelle had been expecting it too, because in the long moment of silence that followed, her expression pinched a little with what might’ve been surprise.

"It is what it is,” Simon said at last, a little bitter. “Tell me it’s not that obvious?”   
“I know what unrequited love looks like,” Isabelle replied, a non-answer; Simon didn’t miss the implication that it had not been Isabelle herself who’d experienced it. Well, Simon thought sourly, it could hardly be  _ Jace _ , and Isabelle’s asshole older brother Alec didn’t seem capable of liking anyone. “If you wanted to flirt with me to make her jealous, you should’ve just asked. It’s certainly working.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t for a second think I stood a chance with you, if that’s what you wanted me to say,” Simon scoffed, and Isabelle did something  _ truly  _ unexpected. She smiled. It was a glimpse of a thing, fleeting and hardly there at all, but for once it didn’t seem deliberately menacing or ill-intentioned. “She seemed to buy it, though.”   
“She did,” Isabelle agreed. She gave the soup another cursory stir, but this time Simon thought it was a purposeful attempt to conceal her expression.

There was something about the way she spoke - an odd cadence, a certain  _ deliberate  _ intent behind each carefully selected word, no matter how callous they sounded when strung together in a sentence. It was so different from Clary's dreamlike way of speaking, the way she followed threads of conversation like a spider's web. “I could help you,” Isabelle offered, slowly, and Simon didn’t quite get what she meant.

“Help me?” Simon echoed.

“You’ve seen how everyone flips about you and Clary being here,” Isabelle remarked, despite her  _ also  _ being one of the people ‘flipping’. “That could be - useful. For me.”

Isabelle was hiding something, he thought, but it was really none of his business what Isabelle did. He barely knew her. And yet he thought he had a better grip on who she was than Clary did, thought he liked her an awful lot more than Alec and  _ far  _ more than Jace. He wanted to know why she hated Clary so much, he realised. He wanted to know why Clary hated  _ her _ .

“Then alright,” Simon said, and Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest. “Deal.”   
“Great,” she said. “You do have to try my soup, though.”

Simon eyed the soup warily. Every addition Isabelle had made to it so far had only made it look and smell worse; he was fairly sure that that specific shade of green should not occur naturally. If Isabelle’s own smirk was any indication, she knew it too. “Why?”

She snorted, as if she knew something he didn't.

“There’s still way more in it for you than there is for me,” Isabelle informed him, which was impossible to verify, given that she was being frustratingly vague about, well, everything. “If I really wanted to, I could pick up any mundie off the street.”   
“Then why haven’t you?” Simon challenged.

“Have you met Alec?” Isabelle scoffed. “If it were up to him, I’d be in some convent in Id-uh, Europe, with no alcohol, no demons, and no  _ boys _ . He’s already on the verge of having a coronary as-is, and I didn’t even do anything this time - that’s all on Jace and your precious Clary. Imagine if I  _ did _ .” She shook her head dismissively, her long hair swaying with the movement. “I’m going to take the opportunity while you’re here, of course, but I don’t  _ need  _ you. There are other ways to get what I want.”   
“And are you going to tell me what that is?” Simon demanded. “Your logic isn’t really making much sense, Isabelle. Either you need me or you don’t.”

Isabelle paused, and then sighed for real this time. She grabbed a ladle from a cupboard and two bowls, and filled them both with soup, a ploy for time, and up close she wasn’t quite so flawless. Her lipstick was bleeding at the corner of her mouth, and there were a flurry of little silver scars on her knuckles that were visible as she placed one of them in front of him. She was still the most objectively gorgeous girl he’d ever seen - but only a girl now, not a goddess. Not quite in reach, but closer than before.

“Alec and Jace are all I have,” she said, quiet, urgent. “Do you understand? We don’t have anyone else. When our parents are here, it’s...better if they think I’m the one acting out. If I’m the one they focus all their yelling on. I can’t-”

Isabelle cut herself off abruptly, and spooned some of the soup into her mouth. Her straight nose wrinkled.

"Huh," she said. "That is disgusting. Try some."

She forced a spoonful into Simon's mouth, and Simon attempted not to gag. Holding his breath, he swallowed as much as possible and choked.  _ Vile  _ did not even begin to cover it. It was as if someone had juiced the remnants of a weeks-old trashbag; no wonder Jace had been so keen to avoid Isabelle’s culinary wrath. It was sort of impressive how she’d managed to make something so inedible out of entirely edible ingredients.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his eyes watering. "No wonder your tutor makes his own food.

"Guess we'll have to order Chinese again," Isabelle declared cheerfully, all of her previous solemnity gone. She seemed to be watching Simon out of the corner of her eye, as if daring him to comment further on the prior conversation. Simon kept his mouth decidedly shut. "C'mon. I'll even let you pick."

"Alright," Simon said. "Just no more soup.

"No promises," Isabelle said, and she winked. The menu she slid over to him was battered and faded with disuse. “They do great moo shu pork.”   
“Jewish,” Simon gestured to himself. “Also, vegetarian.”   
“Oh,” Isabelle blinked. “The soup had fish in it. Oops.”

  
The fish was probably the least wrong thing in that soup, Simon decided. “It’s no biggie,” he said. “Egg rolls?”   
“Go for it,” Isabelle nodded. She tilted her head to look at him consideringly. “Hey. Mundie.”   
“My name is Simon,” he sighed.   
“Simon,” she chewed it over. And then she gave him another smile, dazzling and a little longer-lasting. “You can call me Izzy.”


End file.
